Cornucopia
by Labyrinth01
Summary: During the first Johnson family Thanksgiving without Willie Rae, Brenda realizes what she is truly thankful for. -


**Author's Notes:** This story is sappier than a pecan pie. A sweet Brenda and Fritz one shot to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving.

If you are reading this, that means you must like Brenda/Fritz. And if you like LA's First Couple, you hopefully read by now the latest chapter of Kate Rosen's story "Something Better." If you haven't, for heaven's sake, stop reading this silly little tale and go read it, now! You heard me, _now!_

* * *

Brenda looked around the crowded, bustling Johnson home and wrapped her tan sweater tightly around herself to stave off the November chill. _Mama would have loved this_, she thought sadly. _The holidays made her so happy_.

Brenda and Fritz had flown to Atlanta for the first Thanksgiving in the Johnson home without Willie Rae. The previous year, her death had been too fresh for anyone to step into her shoes and host the holiday, and all the Johnsons were exhausted from pulling Clay through his emotional devastation in addition to caring for him during the last of his cancer treatments. Luckily, Clay had been invited to his sister's house in Augusta, the boys celebrated with their families, and Brenda and Fritz went over to Jerry's house for the day. This year, though, Clay really wanted the entire family in Atlanta, and even though he would be seeing Brenda and Fritz in LA for Christmas in a few weeks, they packed their bags and headed across the country. As Brenda stood in her living room and watched her family swirl around her father, who looked happier than he had since her mother died, and she was glad she had made the effort.

Brenda's attendance did not come with an assumption that she would be the one to cook dinner. No one was that stupid. Her sister-in-law Joyce had been at the house since 8AM, watching the bird closely and making side dishes. Fritz was helping her, and so was Brenda, essentially functioning at the level as scullery maid for the other two. She was rather pleased with herself, though, that she insisted on making a pumpkin and pecan pie, and managed to burn only one of them.

As Joyce and Fritz started to carry the food to the table, Brenda called everyone to dinner. It was a little like herding cats. In addition to The Johnson children and their partners, there were three nieces and two nephews, her Aunt Cassie and Uncle Barney, her cousin Hope and her outrageously pierced boyfriend Ted, and Joyce's elderly parents, Gertie and Greg. It took Brenda an hour to set the table, which required two leaves so everyone could sit comfortably. Her great-grandmother's fine china sat on a dark orange tablecloth, elegant with matching bread plates, tea cups, the family silver, and cut crystal glasses. Brenda grumbled up a storm as she folded napkin after napkin into a fan, but now that the candles were lit and people were oooing and ahhing and comparing her to Martha Stewart, she had to admit it looked beautiful. _Mama would be proud of this table_, she thought.

At last, everyone was seated in front of a delicate china place setting, and the table virtually groaned under the weight of the food. Brenda's stomach tightened in hunger, and she seemed to have a hard time looking away from the turkey leg, with reddish brown crispy skin tented over tender meat. _I love dark meat, I hope there's a nice slice of that leg for me. Would it be rude if I just reached over and grabbed it? _She imagined Fritz reaching out and smacking her offending hand long before it reached the succulent flesh, and she suppressed a smile.

Her perusal of the food was interrupted when her father cleared his throat. She hoped Clay's next words were going to be "dig in," but she knew better.

"Today is the day we give thanks for everything we have," Clay said. "So before we start eating, we are going to take a minute and for all of us to say what we are most grateful for."

Brenda closed her eyes and inwardly groaned. She was really hoping that this family tradition died with Willie Rae. Every Thanksgiving, no matter how burgeoning the platters of food were, regardless how hungry the guests and the eager children were to start feasting on the turkey with all the fixings, not a morsel was served until everyone went around and said a sentence or two about what they were grateful for. Brenda and her three brothers would eye the thick gravy sitting next to the apple sausage stuffing, watch the steam rise from the piping hot macaroni and cheese, their growing bellies growling from the tantalizing smell of the roasted bird, yet they were forced to sit still as everyone said their piece. It was torture, almost as bad as some of the techniques used on reluctant suspects by the CIA. _Waterboarding is child's play compared to this._

When Brenda was a little girl, it wasn't too bad figuring out what to say when it was her turn, as the small things in life held such weight for her then—a new tooth, a favorite kindergarten teacher, learning to ride a bike. When she entered adolescence, she sat with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face, determined not to feel grateful for anything in her life. When it came to her turn, she delighted in coming up with something that would upset her parents. Brenda peaked the year she stated, "I'm grateful for my boyfriend's new tattoo, it's hot," smiled savagely in Willie Rae's face, then illegally grabbed a roll and stuffed half of it in her mouth. She became less sarcastic with maturity, and settled on a generic answer she used each year: "I'm thankful to be home with y'all." That seemed to please her parents and required neither soul searching nor divulging of anything from her personal life, so it worked just fine.

Brenda hadn't come to Atlanta for Thanksgiving the "bad year," as she calls the end of her tenure in Major Crimes, when the Baylor lawsuit was in full swing. She didn't even know her father's cancer diagnosis was around the corner, and gratitude was already a little thin on the ground. The following year, the "picking up the pieces year," she was really grateful there wasn't a Johnson family Thanksgiving, because in light of all the horror she was just starting to recover from, she was afraid she would open her mouth and the instead of her sterile, pat answer, the truth would fall out: "I'm thankful Philip Stroh didn't rape and murder me." Brenda was pretty sure that would cast a dark shadow over the day's festivities, to say the least.

They started at the opposite end of the table, with her nieces and nephews, who gave answers similar as Brenda had at their age: "I'm grateful I can play soccer better;" "I'm thankful for my dog Murphy;" "I'm happy Liddy went to college and I got her bedroom." Everyone paid close attention when Clay spoke, for he had had such a hard time since Willie Rae had died. "I'm blessed to have my health back," he said, his voice rough. "And real grateful I'm looking at the beautiful faces of the family Willie Rae and I created." Brenda felt her eyes sting. On to the adults: "new job;" "my back got better;" "my kids are all healthy and happy;" and from Bobbie, "my golf game has improved." Brenda rolled her eyes at that one.

Before she knew it, Joyce's mother tapped her on the hand, after having gone on quite awhile about all her grandchildren. "It's your turn, dear," she whispered.

Brenda tore her eyes away from the turkey leg and cleared her throat. She started to say her old standard line about being glad to be home, but when she spoke, something very, very different came out.

"Y'all know I've had a horrible couple of years," she heard herself say, as if far away. _Someone shut me up!_ "And if you asked me durin' that time what I was grateful for, I would have told you not a darn thing. But that wasn't true." She again willed herself to hush, but she was unable to stem the tide of the words that flowed from her. "I had the most amazin' person in my life who helped get me though the darkness." She put her hand on top of Fritz's but didn't look at him. "Fritz was so good to me, lovin' me even though I couldn't give much back, always bein' a rock. What could anyone be more grateful for than havin' someone who will always be there for you?" Fritz put his hand on hers and squeezed. "I've never said it enough, so today is the best day of all to say it. I'm incredibly thankful for Fritz, and everythin' he does for me, and for lovin' me so hard." She choked up then, and she ventured a look around the table, her cheeks burning.

Everyone was silent and still. Even the younger kids had stopped fiddling and were staring at their Aunt Brenda. Charlie had tears in her eyes, and Clay looked every bit the proud patriarch. Her sisters-in-law smiled and nodded at her, both of them gripping their husband's hands, and even her brothers seemed moved by her words.

And Fritz…her heart nearly stopped when she looked at him. He wore a stunned expression on his face, his handsome features caught somewhere between confusion and wonder. Mostly, though, Brenda thought he looked proud. Proud to be her husband or proud that she was able to say such personal things so publicly, she wasn't sure. And she didn't care. He slowly lifted their intertwined hands and kissed her knuckles, never breaking eye contact.

After a couple more minutes of silence, Clay coughed. "That's a hard act to follow, Fritz, but the food's getting cold, so we need to wrap this up." The spell was broken, and people relaxed and laughed politely.

Fritz's eyes never left her face. "Brenda," he said simply. "I'm grateful for Brenda." When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything more, Jimmy took his turn, and then the table became a flurry of _please pass, let me serve, white or dark, do you have…?_ With the sudden whirlwind, Brenda gently tugged and reclaimed her hand, self-conscious from her sentimentality and eager to move on to feasting.

She picked up the rolls in front of her, plopped one down, and passed the basket to Fritz, who still looked slightly dazed.

_Okay, enough of the mushiness,_ she thought. _Snap out of it, Howard._ "I just gave you bread, Fritz, so the polite thing to do would be to pass me the potatoes and gravy, which have been sittin' in front of you for awhile. You are creatin' a log jam, honey."

Instead of reaching for food, he put the bread basket down and grabbed her by both shoulders, pulling her close and kissing her. It was short but intense, full of emotion. Only a few people around them looked up from shoveling food on their plates or in their mouths to catch them, and they kindly glanced away.

"I'm also grateful, Brenda," he said softly, slowly picking up the potatoes and spooning a liberal amount on his plate before passing them, "that for all the work you have done on yourself over the past year, you will always be _you_."

She crinkled her nose up in confusion, and he laughed. She didn't know what he meant, not at all, but it was okay. She was with her beloved Fritz in front of a table loaded with delicious food. And she was home in Atlanta with her family.

When Fritz put the entire turkey leg on her plate, she was truly, wonderfully, unabashedly thankful.

**The End**

**In the spirit of giving thanks, please review. Unless you hated it, then…review anyways.**

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